


FirstKisses.com

by zombie_socks



Series: E-Love [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Co-workers, Enemies to Lovers, Online Dating, Rated M for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9546053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: Natasha loves her job as leader of the tech department at FK.com, an online dating website that's relatively young. That is until her boss assigns her to a project with her co-worker/nemesis, Clint Barton. Will she be able to keep her sanity while trying to increase the site's traffic, deal with her roommates' matchmaking, and have daily meetings with the aggravating (and really hot) Clint Barton?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> This is part 2 of my 3-part E-Love series. I wanted to do something with Clint and Nat being co-workers at a dating site. I drew inspiration from Cracked's Rom.Com web series (YouTube it).  
> Some disclaimers: I don't work at a website. I don't know much about yoga. And this turned out a little more chick-flicky than I originally intended. Also unbetaed. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.  
> Thanks for reading,  
> \- Z-Socks

Two years ago when Natasha Romanov started working at FK.com, she would have jumped at the chance of having an in-person meeting with founder and CEO, Nick Fury. He was a powerful man, a strong silent type that inspired one to work twice as hard at their job. He’d hired her right out of college and she’d been forever grateful. Not a lot of employers were willing to hire someone with a handful of juvenile discrepancies on record, especially when they involve breaking through firewalls. But he’d taken a chance on her to manage the site’s algorithm and data analysis. After all, she’d more than proved her prowess with computers.  

“I want you both working together,” Fury ordered.

Two years ago she’d have been thrilled. Today, however, she was sitting in his office less than pleased because sitting next to her was none other than Clint Barton.

Barton was the Joker to her Batman, the Shredder to her Ninja Turtles, the Newman to her Seinfeld. Where she was careful and conservative in her speech, he babbled constantly. Where she took her job seriously, he squandered away company time and resources. Where she believed in their matching algorithm and the importance of data analytics, he subscribed to the theory that love just happened.

“I refuse to work with him,” Natasha argued, crossing her arms across her chest and maintaining eye contact with Fury. The eye patch usually made people squirm but Natasha wasn’t intimidated. Of course, neither was Barton.

“Pfft,” Barton responded, turning his chair around so he sat in it backwards, leaning his arms on the back; his digital tablet hung from one hand, dangling precariously. Its lack of protective case made Natasha nervous. “Ain’t gonna change Fury’s mind. Right, boss?”

“Sit in the chair like a human being, Barton. But yes, I’m afraid there’s no room for protest, Romanov. We need to boost the site’s activity. I was under the impression that my leading tech and research agent could come together and find a solution.”

“I’ll do my part,” Natasha affirmed, making a note in her own tablet.

“’Course you will, Tin Man,” Barton shot.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Natasha spat.

“It means get a heart, you Vulcan.”

“Too much logic for you, Oprah?”

“Ice queen.”

“Oh go write about it in your diary.”

“Enough!” Fury barked, regaining their attention. “We need a solution before the end of the week. I suggest you two get past your squabbling and start working together.”

Natasha nodded in affirmation. Barton gave a lazy thumbs up.

“Dismissed,” Fury finalized.

The pair left the man’s office in silence. Natasha made her way to an empty conference room, grabbing Barton’s arm to drag him in after her.

“Ow,” he protested.

She rolled her eyes. “Buck up.” She sat down in one of the many chairs lining the table. Clint followed suit and sat across from her. “Let’s get to work, shall we.” She opened up her digital tablet and began typing. “I’ll pull up site traffic results, new user data, any offline instances- hey!”

Clint ripped her tablet from her hands and set it face down on the table next to him. “The problem’s not a technical aspect, Tasha.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“If the site’s not performing well then it’s obviously because people have found it less desirable compared to other sites.” He took out his own tablet and opened a new browser. “Let’s see…First Kisses dot com,” he said aloud as he typed.

“You know we have an app, right?”

“Hmm,” he dismissed. “Redirecting in five seconds.”

“You could’ve just put in FK.com. Bypassed the redirect.”

“Oh I know, but it’s my silent protest to the stupid new name.”

“I came up with the name,” she protested.

“Naturally. Doesn’t change the fact that it sucks.”

“And what’s wrong with it? It’s hot and trendy, it fits better on marketing materials-”

“It spells fuck, which is…nice and subtle.”

Natasha glared at his sarcasm.

Barton leaned in. “First Kisses, Nat. It’s poetic, romantic. The plural is inclusive, suggests that many people are having first kisses and you can too. It evokes warm summer nights curled up by a pond, crickets in the background orchestrating the soundtrack for that intimate moment. It’s sweet and demure yet evocative. A kiss can be sensual, sexy. It’s a sharing of experience, of life, of air.”

“We’re a dating site, Clint, not Hallmark. Most of our users are here for hookups.”

He scoffed but went silent as he pulled up a program on his tablet. “I’m gonna put together a survey for our clients, see if we can’t get them to divulge their secrets.”

“Whatever,” Natasha commented, reaching across the table to take back her tablet. “I’m going to actually solve this problem and look at the hard data.”

“Question one,” Clint continued as if not hearing her. “Do you prefer the site’s new fuck name to its more eloquent past identity?”    

“Seriously?”

“Question two, if you could change one thing about the site would it be usability, color scheme, or the stupid new name?”

“You’re a child.”

“Question three, do you like to be given regular statistical findings about your life, or would you rather spend time with the soulmate that you found using this site?”

Natasha threw up her arms. “No ‘soulmate’ can be found without first going through our carefully crafted questionnaire and highly calculated algorithm. Meaning your job is only in existence because of mine. My data keeps you employed because without figures and numbers, love couldn’t exist.”

“Really?” Clint doubted. He leaned back and ran a hand through his somehow stupidly attractive dark blonde hair. He’d grown out his beard a little for winter giving him the right amount of scruff. If she didn’t hate him so much, Natasha would be inclined to think him cute. “Let me ask you something, Romanov. Do you have any pets?”

“I don’t see how that’s-”

“Answer the question, okay?”

She pursed her lips but replied, “Yes. I have a cat.”

“Okay. What percentage?”

“What?”

“How much, in percentage, do you love your cat?”

“I… that’s not… we measure compatibility, Barton. The likelihood of these two people getting along. We don’t measure love.”

“Exactly. Because you can’t. You can’t put a number on love. Can’t give it a percentage or statistic or variable. Love is love. And even though you can’t quantify it, it remains a factor.” He grabbed his tablet and tapped around for a moment. “The site’s activity is down. Now, maybe that’s a technical difficulty. But I would bet dollars to donuts it’s because some other site is doing better at encouraging love.”

He turned his tablet to face her. “Look at this one. See how their site boasts happy couples and has hearts and flowery language and doesn’t say ‘fuck’ in the title? Love.” He tapped around again. “Ours on the other hand boasts its algorithm, match compatibility. Nowhere on the site does it say First Kisses anymore. You dominated with math and now traffic is down.”

Natasha huffed. “We’ll see about that, Barton.” She took her tablet and walked out of the room. That dollars to donuts comment had reminded her she’d skipped breakfast. She could review her data over lunch.  

…

“Hey, sweet pea, care if I join you?”

“Go away, Barton.”

He ignored her and pulled up an office chair to sit next to her. “I distributed the survey.”

“Not that garbage you came up with in the conference room, I hope.”

“Nah, legitimate market research. I should have results in by tomorrow, sample group pending.”

“Congrats. You can leave now.”

“Well hold on. I wanted to ask if you’d want to sit in on some focus groups with me. I figured your logical insight might pose better questions for the subjects to answer regarding our current project.”

Natasha turned away from her screen to finally face him.

“You could ask about usability, questionnaire quality, that kind of thing.”

Natasha studied his face, trying to find the angle, the game. She came up blank and that concerned her. “Okay,” she answered hesitantly.

“Cool.” Clint stood up. “Bring coffee. Fury usually lets us spring for bagels.” He tapped her cubicle wall and left.

…

Natasha sashayed into the conference room carrying a cardboard coffee tray in one hand and her tablet in the other. Clint was already there setting up for the focus group. As promised there was a platter of bagels arranged for the guests.

“I didn’t know how you took it so got you a black coffee. Cream and sugar are on the side,” she offered him.

Clint raised a brow. “You… got me coffee?”

“You said bring coffee,” Natasha tried to clarify.

“Yeah but I…meant…for you- Never mind. Thanks.” He took a sip, ignoring the scalding hot temperature. “Go ahead and snag a bagel. Better we eat them before the group gets here.”

Natasha took the advice and selected a whole grain bagel and lightly spread lo-fat strawberry cream cheese over it. She noticed Clint had his next to his coffee, a cinnamon sugar dough with Nutella dripping off the sides.

“Jump start the day with a sugar rush?” she inquired indicating his breakfast.

He shrugged. “I have a sweet tooth.” He flexed his rather impressive arms. “And a high metabolism.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and took a bite of her bagel. “So how does this work? You ask a bunch of questions and they give you feedback?”

“That’s about it. I find that doing it in a group over food gives the crowd a sense of meeting at a dinner table and they open up more.” He drank some of his coffee and typed around on his tablet. “Want to see the questions? See if you’ve got anything to add?”

Nat nodded, taking his tablet when he offered it. She scanned the questions, noticing they were written in a more refined speech than Barton’s normal dialect. She wondered momentarily if someone else had typed up the questions. Then again, Barton could be a decent wordsmith as he’d demonstrated yesterday with his description of kisses.

“Let’s add something about-”

The door opened before she could finish and a nervous woman poked her head in asking if this was where the focus group was meeting.

Clint stood up and gave her a wide grin that Natasha knew to be his “client smile.” He got her seated with a bagel and a glass of orange juice just as more people began filtering in. She watched as Clint played host, introduced her, and chatted casually with these people. She’d never admit it but he made it look easy, effortless. He gave them no reason to be anxious and before long the conference table was filled with fast friends.

“Well now that we’ve wined ya and dined ya,” he started with a smirk, standing up and taking his tablet with him, “it’s time to get down to business. Just remember to relax and give us your honest answer. None of our feelings will be hurt; I promise.” He flashed another smile and a few of the group members gave gentle laughter.  

Clint glanced at his questions. “Let’s start with the presentation of the site. Do you have any suggestions for navigation? For example, would you prefer a kind of greeting when you enter the site, a straight shot to the menu, or a traditional static home page?”

The nervous woman from before raised her hand.

“Yeah, Go ahead,” Clint indicated.

She bit her lip. “Personally I prefer a traditional approach. I want a home page that talks a little about the site and a clear navigational bar.”

“But what about those of us who already know what the site is?” a balding man asked. “Personally I’m tired of constantly being asked to sign in. Leave me logged in so I can go straight to my profile.”

“We have that option,” Natasha pointed out. “It’s under the login information, a check box that says leave me logged in.”

“Won’t that mean Google gets my personal info to sell to the NSA for coke money?”

“I think,” Clint cut in, “what Mr. Goebel is trying to say is he’d like a separate checkbox located in the site that he could click to take him directly to his profile page.”

Mr. Goebel nodded, satisfied.

“Okay, anyone else?”

The group looked around before offering up “no’s” and “don’t think so’s” and shaking heads.

“Moving on to in the site itself. Let’s talk about profile layout, browsing options, messaging.”

A twenty-something woman with stylized short black curls spoke up. “I don’t know about anyone else but I find the messaging feature distracting.”

Clint made a note on his tablet. “Distracting how?”

She went on. “Well when I’m chatting with a guy I can still get messages from other guys. I want to pay attention to the conversation I’m having, but those other messages keep distracting me.”

Clint nodded, writing down what she’d said. He turned to Natasha. “Would it be possible to block that somehow?”

Nat tapped her fingers on the conference table, thinking. “We could install a chat lock option. You’d click the icon in the messenger box and it would freeze out all other incoming messages, sending them to an inbox that you could check at a later date.”

“I like that,” the woman replied.

“Good,” Clint finalized. “Next. Let’s get-”

“I have a question?” a skinny, pasty man started. “Is there a better algorithm for gay guys than straight because my pal, Grant, is going on dates left and right and I can’t even scare up a plus one to my cousin’s wedding.”

Natasha barely refrained from scoffing. “The algorithm is the same. There’s nothing wrong with it,” she added under her breath, “unlike your standards”

Clint stepped in. “What Nat’s trying to say is maybe you could look at your About Me section in your profile and compare it to your friend’s to see if you could make some positive changes. Or, you might try retaking the questionnaire; there might be some questions you answer differently now than when you first filled it out that could get you more accurate matches.”

The guy nodded, seemingly pleased.

Clint went on for the next thirty minutes, asking and fielding questions. Natasha was amazed at how well he handled the crazy concerns and off the cuff requests. He skated through the whole ordeal and managed to still have the group smiling when they left. She studied him as he turned around, letting out a breath and sinking into a chair across from her, spinning it side to side.

It was a performance, she realized. A persona. The Clint before her now was the real deal with his hair a little messy from his hands running through it and his eyes sharper and harsher than what the smile-crinkled lines made them.

“That went well,” he summarized.

“They always that insane?”

“No.” He looked at her and smirked. “Sometimes their much worse. Good notes though, Tasha. I think we can get these changes written up and present them to Fury for approval.”

“Well hopefully they’ll solve our activity issue and we can go back to our separate domains.”

“Oh I don’t know. I kinda like working with you. It’s like having my own droid.”

She swatted at his arm but couldn’t quite fight back the grin touching her lips. She got up and began cleaning up the table, tossing away napkins and empty cups of juice. Clint grabbed the bottle of cleaner from a cabinet in the corner and sprayed down the table’s surface, wiping it clean with paper towels.

Nat dusted off her hands and picked up her tablet. “I’ll get my portion of the report written up and emailed to you by lunch.”

“Okay. Oh and Nat.”

She turned to face him.

“Thanks again for the coffee.”

“Thanks for the invite.”

…

An email from Fury sat in her inbox the next morning approving the modifications. She’d just created a bunch of work for herself and her team, but should the modifications work, her little stint with Barton would be over.

It surprised her to feel ever so slightly disappointed.

The next few days were a nightmare of code and CSS and database issues. Tony’s snarky comments and obsessive tendencies decorated each additional concern. Daisy held her composure but by day four she was shaking with frustration. Natasha treated them both to pizza, hoping pepperoni acted as a balm to some of the aggravation.

By the time Friday hit, Natasha was stoked for her yoga class with her roommates, Steve and Bucky. Their work schedules meant they didn’t get a lot of time to see each other, chat, catch up. Yoga Friday was a standing tradition the three refused to let go.  

“We’re crashing the smoothie bar after this, yes?” Bucky whispered while the trio folded into the downward dog position.

“I’m game,” Steve confirmed quietly. “Nat?”

“Sure. It’ll give me a positive to focus on while at work.”

The three went into salutation to the sun. “Still rough? How’s the project going?” Bucky inquired.

“It wouldn’t be too bad if I didn’t have to check in with Barton every day.”

“Isn’t he the one who rambles on about everything?”

“No, that’s Tony,” Steve cut in as they rose to their feet.

“It’s both,” Nat grumbled, sliding in to warrior pose. “Barton’s the market research agent.”

“The one who didn’t like your name for the site,” Bucky guessed. The lady next to them put a finger to her lips and shushed them. Natasha ignored her but kept her voice low.

“He thinks people pronounce the FK as fuck.”

Steve snorted, catching his laughter behind a hand.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Bucky chimed in, moving to the next position.

Steve added, “He _is_ in marketing, right? Maybe he’s heard the opinion from customers.”

Nat shook her head, red curls swinging in her ponytail with the movement. “Trust me. He’s more than capable of coming up with it all by himself. He’s clever like that.”

Bucky hummed, sharing a glance with Steve who gave a small considering nod. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word clever, Nat” Bucky observed. “Sarcasm or not it sounds like a compliment.”

“So?”

“So…” Steve filled in, “you think maybe your annoyance is a little forced?”

Nat dropped out of her pose to stare at the pair. “Really you two? Just because you’re happily engaged you’re going to start prying into my life and finding me a man?”

Another _shhh_ was tossed their way.

“It’s worth a shot,” Steve mumbled.

They finished their workout in silence and headed out of the designated yoga room to the juice and smoothie bar in the adjacent open area. Nat was blissfully into her strawberry banana smoothie, casually scanning the crowd when her eyes landed on an unforgettable sight.

A plum cutoff T-shirt inked with sweat. Glistening muscles peeking from beneath. A sleek, black quiver slung low on his hip. A leather shooting glove lining his left hand. Hair a lovely mess. Gym shorts filled nicely in the posterior. And a bow, a graceful recurve gripped in a calloused hand connected to a brilliant set of arms with the brachial artery popping out just right.

“Tasha?”

It took her a long moment to realize just what was happening. Clint Barton was here, dressed like a sexy assassin, and saying hello to her.

“Hi. I um… didn’t know you went here? To this gym.” She set down her smoothie and caught a glimpse of Steve and Bucky grinning like cats that ate the canary.

“They have a great shooting range,” he replied. She noticed his gaze do a quick once over of her and she immediately wished for a better alternative to her sports bra and yoga pants. She knew she looked great in them, couldn’t blame Clint for looking, especially not after she’d ogled him from across the gym. She crossed her arms over her chest anyway.

“Who’s this, Nat?” Bucky asked, grin still plastered on his face.

“Right. Um, Clint these are my roommates, Bucky and Steve. Guys, this is Clint. Barton.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve offered.

“Yeah, Nat’s told us so little about you,” Bucky tacked on. God, she was going to murder them.

“Right. Well, I’d better get changed, get to work,” Natasha stated hurriedly. “I’ll-I’ll see you there,” she said to Clint.

“See ya at home, Nat,” Steve called after her. She gave a responding wave without turning around.

Shit. Her distain for Barton had been waning degree by degree over the past week. And to see him so… so! God, she was never going to get through this project.   

…

“I didn’t know you went to Happy’s Gym,” Clint opened with as Nat took her seat next to him in Fury’s office. Their boss was currently wrapping up a phone call and had motioned for them to sit.

“Only on Fridays. It’s a standing tradition carried over from university.”

“Yeah, Bucky and Steve mentioned you guys met at college.”

Fury sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, call seeming to not be going well.

“We talked for a bit after you left,” Clint continued. “They seem like nice guys.”

“Whatever they told you about me, assume lies,” Nat replied. “They’re troublemakers, the pair of ‘em.”

Clint chuckled quietly. “So the invitation to dinner tomorrow night is a no-go?”

Natasha turned to stare at him, blinking at his genuine asking expression. “Remind me to murder those two,” she muttered, turning back to face forward when Fury all but slammed his phone into the cradle.

“Performance metrics came in this morning,” he said by way of greeting. “It’s too soon to tell if your adjustments have made a significant impact, so I’d like you two to check in once a day with each other, compare notes, swap observations. We’ll meet back here again next Friday.”

The pair of employees nodded and took that statement as their dismissal. Barton held open the office door letting Nat go through first. “Looks like you’re not rid of me yet, princess.”

Nat sent an elbow to his ribs, making enough contact to send a message without injury. “Sadly I’ll have to keep contact. What do think about checking in right after lunch next week?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Clint agreed. He hesitated and Natasha realized they’d reached his office. He tapped his long fingers against the doorway and Nat briefly wondered what they’d feel like going up her spine. She pushed that thought away when he cleared his throat. “So…dinner… _isn’t_ a, you know, thing?”

Natasha wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand she knew that if Clint came over for dinner it would be an evening of Steve and Bucky trying to play matchmaker. On the other, they’d invited him, not her. It wasn’t her place to negate the offer.

“They’d be sorely disappointed if you didn’t show,” she settled, walking off before he could say another word.

…

Steve had made risotto. Gourmet mushroom risotto. The last time he’d done that had been when he asked Bucky to marry him. Natasha didn’t like the idea of Steve’s signature romantic dish being the main course. Not one bit. But her attempt to get out of the forthcoming evening was thwarted when Bucky literally blocked the doorway and threatened no DVR privileges for a week.

“You’re both crazy,” Natasha announced. “I know you think that forcing us together in a space lit by freaking candlelight will somehow make love magic happen, but you’re wrong! I don’t like him. I tolerate him at best. I-”

“Ogle him for a solid minute when he’s glistening with sweat,” Steve cut in.

“I can appreciate a good body when I see one. It doesn’t mean that I like him.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re so concerned, Nat,” Bucky contributed. “We’re just friends having dinner with our new buddy. And you’re attendance is simply polite manners seeing as you’re our mutual contact.”

“You’re full of horse shit, Barnes!”

“When was the last time you went on a date?” he countered.

Natasha glared at him.

“Look,” he tried again, “all I’m saying is give this a shot. And have a little faith in your engaged roommates; we know what we’re doing.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

Bucky shrugged. “Then we’ll forget all about it and you can go on with your life like it never happened.”

“You do realize I have to work with him after this? I have a whole week of check-ins that are going to get really awkward if this flunks.”

“It’ll only be awkward if you let it get awkward,” Steve insisted.

A knock sounded at the door and Bucky went to answer it. “Hey, Clint. Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Clint answered. “Smells good.”

“Yeah, Stevie’s a great cook.” He led Clint inside, handed him a beer, chatting about the apartment. “’Course Stevie and Nat decorated it. They’re the artsy types.”

“I didn’t know that, Tasha,” Clint addressed as she joined them, beer half downed. “Thought you were all data processing and shit.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Hidden talents. Kinda like archery.”

“Yeah what’s up with that?” Steve furthered from the kitchen.

Clint laughed, a throaty deep laugh that Natasha would never admit to thoroughly liking. “Carry over from camp as a kid. I was kinda small and shy growing up, a natural target for bullying. The counselor there was nice and let me spend free hour down on the range. I got pretty good by the end of summer. Saved up all my paper route money to buy a bow and proceeded to litter all the trees in my backyard with little arrow holes.”

“Your school didn’t have an archery club?” Steve piped in, setting the dish of risotto on the dinning table.

Clint laughed again. “Hell no. We barely had a baseball team.”

“Did you play?” Bucky asked.

Clint “Mmmhmmed” around the top of his beer. “Pitcher. Ambidextrous so I could play half the game with each hand, kept us from needing a relief pitcher most of the time.” He took another sip. “Damn near tore up my shoulder, though. I had to turn down scholarships ‘cause I didn’t want to permanently damage it by playing in college.”

“Is that why you chose marketing?” Natasha inquired.

Clint shook his head. “I never had any intention of going into market research. And without those scholarships, I couldn’t go to college, so I did the only logical next step and went into the military.”

“Ay-oh!” Steve whooped. Bucky looked at him fondly and also cheered. “Army,” Steve said, pointing to himself. “Bucky was a Marine.”

Clint answered, “Spec Ops. Sniper”

“Oh good. You three will have loads to talk about,” Natasha muttered, taking her place at the dinner table. Bucky ushered Clint over and had him sit next to Nat, seating himself across from the pair. Steve brought over the rest of the meal and took his own seat at the head of the table.

“So from the army you went to work at FK?” Steve inquired, picking up the thread.

“I’d worked with Fury back in the day. He took a chance on me, letting me pick up the job as I went.” Clint shrugged. “I think he just didn’t want to interview a bunch of yuppies and shit.” He took the plate of asparagus that Steve passed to him, plating a portion and passing it to Natasha. “How about you, Tasha? What got you into being a technician and programmer.”

“I broke my ankle in eighth grade,” she answered blandly, passing around the breadbasket. “I could no longer do ballet, so my parents had to find some other lucrative business they could goad me into and siphon off later.”

Clint nodded and let the conversation drop, moving instead to compliment Steve on the cooking.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I watch a lot of food competition shows.”

Bucky scoffed and lightly smacked Steve on the arm. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a professional chef at _Étoiles et Rayures_.”

“Only on weekends.”

“And Fridays,” Nat added. “The rest of the week he’s an aspiring artist.”

“Oh yeah?” Clint probed. “What medium?”

Steve blushed a little, never one to talk about his art. “Painting, mostly acrylics but I’ve dabbled in oil and watercolor.”

“He’s got a show coming up next month,” Bucky beamed. “The coffee shop down the street has monthly shows for local artists.”

“Maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” Clint stated, bite of bread popping into his mouth. He chewed then asked. “What about you, Bucky? What do you do?”

“Government work,” he stated evenly. There was a tone there that told Clint he was allowed exactly no more inquiries in that line of questioning. He understood that. There were things about his time in the service he couldn’t discuss due to security clearances.

Steve cleared his throat. “Don’t forget, we have lemon bars for dessert.”

Dinner went on with questions and answers tossed between each side and corner until all were full. By the end Nat had found out more about Clint than she had in the past three years of being coworkers. They’d had dessert and she was looking at the evening being over when Bucky jumped up and turned up the background music playing on the radio.

“It’s our song. Wanna dance, Stevie?” he called over the bright swinging tune. The pair notoriously blared big band and swing music in the evening, much to the dismay of the neighbors.

“You bet,” Steve replied, joining Bucky in the living room and falling in step with his fiancé. They were naturals, as if they’d been doing it their whole lives.

Clint was laughing, eyes locked on and following the couple’s movements. “Wish I could do that,” he said to Nat over the music and rhythmic footfalls.

“It’s not that hard,” she commented.

“Care to show me?”

She looked back at him, unaware that he’d leaned in so she’d hear him better over the music, putting their faces in far too tight a proximity. But it framed his eyes and their imploring look, causing Natasha to reconsider the “maybe some other time” that was on her tongue. Instead she grabbed his hand and led him to the living room floor.

She placed his hands where they needed to go, told him the steps and recited the counts to him as they clunked along, stepping on toes and tripping over the carpet. Bucky and Steve laughed before offering tips. By the end of the song, Clint had a few steps down.

The tune changed to one of a slow nature. Steve grabbed at Bucky and held him tight, swaying in a gentle waltz.

“This I can do,” Clint remarked resting his hand on Nat’s waist and taking her other hand in his. The simple box step slowed to little more than a sway as Natasha found herself relaxing in his arms.

It felt nice to be held. His arms were big and strong and she liked the way his clothes smelled like cedar wood. She told herself this wasn’t anything more than an evening out with a friend – a budding friendship fostered by good food and spontaneous dancing. But when Clint said he needed to be getting back to his place, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

…

He stayed in her head all weekend. She couldn’t shake thoughts of Clint Barton dancing with her, laughing, smiling, making jokes. She tried all of Saturday to distract herself and the most part of Sunday convincing herself it didn’t mean anything. Bucky and Steve did little to hide their amusement.

Monday morning rolled around and Natasha couldn’t decide if she felt terror or excitement as she went to work. The hours flew by in a flurry of edits and meetings and yelling at Tony to not play with literal fire.

And then it was after lunch.

With a deep breath and a mental pep talk, she made her way to Barton’s office. He opened on the second knock, apologizing about finishing up a phone call. “Have a seat and give me a sec to pull up the latest report,” he instructed. She sat down in the chair across from his desk, noting that it was surprisingly comfortable.

“You do anything fun over the weekend?” he chatted, eyes on his screen as he pulled up the data.

“Not really. More or less recuperated after Friday.”

He chuckled a little then turned around to face her, smile on his face, data points behind him. “I had a lot of fun, you know.”

Nat shrugged. “Steve and Bucky are a riot.”

He huffed a small laugh, his gaze not leaving hers. “Yeah, but…I meant…with you. Getting to know you. Putting a personality on that robot mainframe of yours.”

She wasn’t sure what to say and elected to move to safer ground. She tapped at her digital tablet, eyes glued to the screen. “Looks like people are responding positively to our chat lock addition. Tony did a good job getting that up so fast.”

“Well the guy’s a literal genius. He works here for the fun of it, right?”

“I think it started as a court mandate of community service and no one ever told him he could leave.”

“That’s better than my theory,” Clint tossed back. “I had him as some kind of Terminator programmer seeding Skynet into the web one site at a time.”

“What’s with your fixation on robots?” She put an elbow on his desk, unconsciously leaning in.

“I don’t know,” he answered, bracing his chin in his hand, arm on the desktop, mimicking her posture. “Something about the idea of a complete void of emotion. What would it be like to feel _nothing?_ ”

Nat smirked. “It’s not that great. Take it from an experienced cyborg.”

“I apologize for my Vulcan comment two weeks ago. Clearly you are Seven of Nine.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Never seen Star Trek.”

“What! Oh, we’ve gotta fix that. You’d love _Voyager_. Janeway is right up your ally.”

Nat grinned at his burst of enthusiasm before going back to her notes to avoid the blush rising in her cheeks at his answering gaze. Damn those blue eyes. “Site traffic could still use a push. Any suggestions?”

“Give it a little time. Or…” he fished around for something on his desk. “Ah.” He handed her a slick piece of paper that announced BOGO pizza from some place called Slice of Life.

“What’s this?”

“A coupon. I’m thinking we run an online deal. First month free. Get people in the site and using it then charge them when they’re hooked.”

“Devious,” she replied. “But I like it. First month free at First Kisses.”

“FK,” he corrected, a hint of sarcasm edging its way in.

“Watch it, Barton. I know where you go to fuel your pizza habit,” she threatened back jokingly, waving the coupon around.

His answering grin brought forth the voice of Bucky teasing, _flirting_. “We should go some time,” he suggested, eyes just not quite meeting hers. “Grab a slice; the pizza is fantastic. And there’s live music, local artists, that kind of thing. People dance to it. So we could…dance too…”

Nat blinked. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Clint rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “I…guess so. I mean, yeah. If you’d…”

“Why?”

Clint stared at her, confused.

She tried to clarify, “Two weeks ago you called me ice queen.”

“And you called me Oprah. I think we’ve both grown here.” He got up and rounded his desk. She stood, unsure what was happening. Dammit they were close. She could feel his warmth radiating from underneath that stupid charcoal grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, delicious forearms visible. “Tasha,” he started, voice low.

She met his eyes and got trapped in them.

“You’re incredible, Tasha. You’re insanely intelligent and talented,” he softly smiled stepping just a little closer, “and tough.” God he was so close. That cedar wood smell from his clothes was washing over her. “Beautiful.”

She leaned in, intoxicated by him in a way she’d never be able to explain. She felt him draw nearer, his breath ghosting across her lips. So close. So _close._

His phone rang.

He sighed then pulled back. His voice was a little rough when he answered it.

That’s all it took for the spell to be broken.

She gathered her tablet and rushed out without a look back, scared that she’d get caught in his eyes again. She was halfway to her office when she realized she was supposed to meet with him every day this week. There was no way she was going to be able to face him. He’d tried to kiss her! And she’d let him, even wanted him too.

It… scared her.

She got to her office and shut the door. Clambering to the phone she dialed Bucky’s number and waited for him to answer.

“What’s up, Nat?”

“Clint almost kissed me.”

Bucky cheered. “That’s great, Natasha! Oh man, I can’t wait to tell Steve. He’ll-”

“Bucky,” she begged, voice cutting out.

“What is it? Everything okay? I thought you were in to him?”

“Bucky,” she tried again, voice wavering as unwanted memories surfaced, bubbling up and making her heart pound. “What if it’s like… _him_ again?”

Bucky took an audible breath. “Oh, Nat. No, no. It won’t be. Is that what…? Oh, Nat. Is that why…?”

She nodded then realized he couldn’t see it. “Yes,” she barely uttered.

Bucky sighed heavily on his end of the line. “Listen here, _любимый_. It’s going to be okay. I get the feeling Clint’s not like…like that. And if he were I’d personally tear him a new one like I wanted to do with that piece of trash that broke your heart.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Why’d you stop me again?”

“I didn’t want any trouble.”

“Nat, the bastard cheated on you with your roommate then forced _you_ to move out so they could keep the place. He deserved plenty of trouble.”

She bit her lip, fighting off tears from horrible memories.

“Look, Natasha,” Bucky went on, “it’s going to be okay. Do you want me and Steve to talk to Clint-”

“No,” she cut in. “No, he’s…that’s…I’ll talk to him.” _Maybe._

“Okay.” Bucky paused for a moment, letting her take her time. He sighed deeply. “You deserve to be happy, Nat.”

She tried to hide her scoff. Happiness wasn’t in her cards as far as she was concerned. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Hang in there, Nat.”

She hung up and sat down at her desk, breath still a little shaky. The water rimming her eyelids spilled over, unacceptable drops trailing down her cheek.  

“Oh good, you’re back,” Daisy greeted. “You okay?”

Nat wiped viciously at the tears. “I’m fine. What’cha got?”

…

On Tuesday she chickened out and sent an email to Barton saying she couldn’t make their meeting and attached updated site stats.

On Wednesday he messaged her that he had a meeting with a client and sent his assistant to meet with her in his stead.

On Thursday she emailed him that there was an emergency in the tech department and was unavailable.

On Friday she was out of excuses. Fury called them both to his office to go over the increase in site traffic and usage, and plan for further development. The tension between them was palpable; they didn’t interact, simply told their side of the work in turns. Fury eyed them curiously, puzzling out their issue behind a mask of indifference. He congratulated them on their work then dismissed them without ceremony. Whatever their problem, he trusted them to work it out.

Outside of Fury’s office the pair split and went their separate ways in silence.

Natasha made it back to her office and collapsed into her chair before she finally caved. It was too frustrating and difficult and unnecessary to continue like they were; tip-toeing around each other and making excuses to avoid contact. Sooner or later she was going to have to face him. And Natasha Romanov had never been a procrastinator.

She stood, armed with a forming speech in her mind when something caught her eye.

There on her computer monitor was the site, up and running as usual. The blue and white coloring meant to covey trust and peace seemed…depressing. The stark FK logo staked its claim above the menu in bold letters and colonized the site in smaller versions across the page. FK. Fuck. One big sad fuck.

“Tony, Daisy,” she called from her office door. The pair approached apprehensively. She couldn’t blame them; her mood lately had been a bit in flux. “I need mockups for a new layout for the site. By five.”

Tony looked at Daisy whose jaw dropped a little. “That’s insane, Nat,” she argued.

Natasha pointed to her screen. “Don’t you see it? It’s…there’s no love.”

“So what? You want a bunch of pink hearts floating around? Little cupid’s flying about?” Tony snarked.

Nat shook her head. “No. Not that. Not cheesy Valentine shit. But, it’s a first kiss, right? It needs to be exciting and nerve racking and electric. It needs to be sweet and sexy and-”

“Okay, Miss Kiss Expert, how the hell are we going to do that?” Tony asked, popping what looked like blueberries into his mouth.

“A new color.” A bit of purple juice dribbled down Tony’s hand. She pointed to it. “This,” “Purple: rich, vibrant, lush.”

“Are we a dating site or an escort service?” Daisy interjected.

Natasha ignored her. “And get rid of the FK. Go back to First Kisses. In white or silver.”

“Okay.” Tony put up his hands, stopping her. “I’m gonna ask what’s bringing this on and if it’s in any way related to your mood swings this past week, and if the answer concerns any kind of monthly feminine issue, please just wink.”

Daisy elbowed him in the ribs while Nat just glared.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered, rubbing his side. “So what then?”

Nat took a breath. She didn’t have to answer but then again she kind of did. They deserved an explanation. “I talked with someone who…showed me that all the stats in the world could never account for the variable that is love.”

“Aww,” Daisy cooed. Stark rolled his eyes but followed it up with, “Fine. Daisy, you tackle the logo. I’ll work out coloring.”

“Thanks you two.”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to update some layout functions anyway.”

…

At five o’ one, she was clutching her tablet to her chest and standing four feet outside of Clint Barton’s office door. Pacing.  

The sound of the latch opening caught her attention and she pivoted to face him.

“Oh,” he stammered, shock on his features as he shut his office door. “Hi.” He stood there, slipping his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do next.

“I need to talk to you,” Natasha filled in.

Clint nodded, a rush of breath leaving out his nose in a slow stream. “I sort of need to talk to you too.”

“Let me go first,” she insisted. She took a deep breath and went for it. “I like you, Clint. I think you’re funny and damn good at what you do, and you have this stupidly big heart.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And you’re ridiculously handsome.”

He grinned, leaning up against the wall, eyes locked on her.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, preparing for the hard part. “But I need you to understand something. When I was in college, I ended up in a terrible relationship.”

“Oh, Tasha,” he expressed but stopped short at her raised hand.

“I’m telling you this only so that you’ll understand why I freaked out. And why I’ve been avoiding you all week long.”

“We both sorta played that game,” he added, eyes holding an edge of embarrassment.

She nodded, accepting both their roles in not handling the situation as well as they could have. “That’s why I’m here. To apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Tasha. I shouldn’t have pushed like I did.”

“I know. But,” She held out her tablet to him, “I come baring gifts to accompany the apology so…”  

He took the offered tablet with a tilted head and curious look. He opened the cover and instantly beamed at the display. The new site layout mockup was labeled in the corner, named the Love Spread. Tony had tweaked the overall design based on user notes and comments and had rebranded the colors to be a velvety red-violet, deep and lush and exciting. Accents of sunny orange and relaxed aqua slipped in to make the page feel like summer nights at the pier or around a campfire. The logo was done in white and compromise with FK|FirstKisses.

“First Kisses,” he read aloud. “You brought it back?”

She shrugged. “I finally saw the site in a new light. A big blue sad fuck light.”

He laughed and took one more look at the layout before handing it back to her. “I like it. You run it by Fury yet?”

She shook her head. “He’s not gonna be happy about another rebranding haul. I’m not sure if he’ll go for it.”

“We could beta test it with a few groups, get input.”

“We?”

He smiled softly. “I’d love to go for a ‘we.’ An us.” He shifted, put his hands back in his pockets. “That is if you want to. I promise we can go whatever speed you want.”

Natasha tucked her tablet under her arm and took a step closer to him. “I think I’d like to try being an us.”

He reached out a hand angled his head in a “come here” motion. She closed the space, wrapping her arms around him as he did her. He held her for a long, wonderful moment, letting her sink in further to his arms as she got comfortable. “I still have that coupon,” he pointed out.

Natasha chuckled against his chest. “I’m free tonight.”

He didn’t let go as he said, “Let’s go try ‘us’ on for size.”

…

_Five years later_

 

Darcy Lewis sat at her desk drinking coffee and rereading over the blog post she’d typed up for FirstKisses latest entry.

 

 

> As many of our readers know, on Mondays we feature a couple of the week who celebrated something special over the weekend. Be it an anniversary, engagement, or wedding, we take pride in the matches that our site has made. However, this week’s featured couple met not on the site but rather behind it.
> 
> Clint Barton, our Manager of Marketing Research, and Natasha Romanov, Senior Technical Director, tied the knot on Saturday after dating for nearly five years. They met here at First Kisses in its early days and have been working together since to make it the great site it is today.
> 
> The small ceremony was held at Flushing Meadows–Corona Park in front of the Unisphere. The bride wore a gown designed by friend and fashion upstart Janet Van Dyne. Later the guests enjoyed a reception dinner of various kinds of pizza catered by the couple’s favorite parlor, Slice of Life. In lieu of gifts the couple asked that guests donate to Second Chances Pet Shelter where the groom volunteers at on weekends. The ring barer was the couple’s beloved one-eyed lab-mix, Lucky, a rescue dog from that shelter.
> 
> The toast from the best man, long time friend and coworker Phil Coulson – Marketing Director, Midwest branch – was both touching and hilarious, including anecdotes about the couple’s first trip to the Midwest branch. Man-of-honor, James “Bucky” Barnes, a good friend of the bride, wished the couple the very best and said that there was never a more dedicated pair than the bride and groom.
> 
> Mr. and Mrs. Barton will be back to work next month after a long and well-deserved honeymoon touring Europe.

 

Darcy Lewis looked over her latest blog post with a smile, proud not only of her work, but of the story as a whole. With a satisfied slurp of her coffee, she hit send.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! Part 3 should be up by Valentine's Day.


End file.
